


The Nature Of Your Being Has Changed

by Lewdsmokesoldier



Series: Gifts and Requests [9]
Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls II
Genre: (But Not Really Because It's Actually Wholesome), Bad Ending, Come Eating, Come Inflation, Come Swallowing, F/M, Fetishization, Mindbreak, Monsters, MtF transformation, Objectification, Sex Change, Sex Change Coffin, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 14:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21393880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lewdsmokesoldier/pseuds/Lewdsmokesoldier
Summary: Your journey through Drangleic has begun! But huh, that’s funny...there’s a strange sarcophagus near where you met the three Firekeepers who sent you on your way. Maybe there’ll be something useful inside?Oh. There wasn’t. Oops.
Relationships: The Bearer of the Curse/Ogre
Series: Gifts and Requests [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822471
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53





	The Nature Of Your Being Has Changed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InerrantErotica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InerrantErotica/gifts).

> A birthday gift for my dear friend [Inerrant Erotica!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InerrantErotica/profile) Give them a follow if you can, they do great work!
> 
> This story has some stuff that I've done before, and some very, VERY notable things I haven't. Most notably, monsterfucking. Yeeeeep.
> 
> If you're not into dubcon, mindbreak, power imbalances, fetishized sexual transformation and sexual objectification, I highly recommend you NOT read this story. It's tagged and everything, so please, if this is something you don't want to read, don't look any farther below.
> 
> On a lighter not, while this is tagged as "Bad End", it really is a fairly positive story with a happy ending for everyone involved, in a fashion. 
> 
> If you enjoy this, consider checking out the rest of my work and following me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/Lewdsmoke)

Things Betwixt is a strange place, but given how you entered Drangleic—by falling through a whirlpool in a lake—you’re quite certain that noncompliance with the regular rules of the world is going to be a common thing during your journey. And it’s going to be a difficult adventure at that, if your time in even this first leg is indicative of how things are going to be. Best that you search this place thoroughly to make sure that you’re not missing anything that might be useful later on: who knows if, beyond the crack in the wall that leads to light, you’ll be able to find sanctuary anytime soon?

There, by the lakeshore, where the water recedes into darkness in the distance! It looks like a large, rectangular sarcophagus. Surely there’s something of use in there: what’s a little grave-robbing in the grand scheme of things? Best to run to it quickly, before anything nasty can get to you first.

Huh, the coffin was bigger than you expected. So big, in fact, that you had to crawl into it fully to search it, and...wait, why’s the lid sliding shut? You can’t see anything, it’s all shadowy blackness! How long will your air last? Why do you already feel like you’re suffocating, body tight and tense against the stone that you claw and pound into, trying to break free? It’s no use, you can’t…

Oh, wait. The lid slid off, just like that! Whew. Time to hurry up and get out, since you didn’t feel anything inside and you don’t want to risk getting trapped in more permanently. 

That’s funny. When you grunted and rolled onto the sand, your voice was a little...higher than it had been a few moments ago. Had you shouted yourself hoarse in the coffin? No, certainly not. Then what…?

A roar greets your ears, and you turn to meet it. Oh, no. No no no no. It’s one of _ them _ . You saw one on your way to the Firekeepers, but only from the back, and you’d had enough sense to not approach. They’re large, at least twice your height and five times your width, covered all over in thick gray-and-green hide that resembles the leathery skins of the great ungulate beasts that dwell in the watering holes and rivers of Jugo. You can’t see their thin, whiplike tail anymore, since they’re facing you: instead, you’re getting a good look at its blunted, yellowed tusks and horn, their drooling mouth and their single, solitary, black-beaded eye. They’ve seen you by now, and they’re running at you with astonishing speed, their trunk-like legs and three-toed hooves pounding the sand with enough force to make the ground quake. Their flabby, enormously fat belly shakes and wobbles with their movement, and you know you need to get up and move _ now _.

But your head’s still swimming, still trying to match all the newness flowing into it. You feel...not weak, no, you’re just as strong as before, you can tell. What’s different, then?

You start to stand on wobbling legs, your groaning still the same higher pitch that you noticed before. That’s funny: you don’t remember your hair being quite in that style either, feeling a little different on your scalp and against your brow. Nor, as you brush your smooth cheeks and jaw, do you recall shaving recently. What in the...

The ogre is closer now, and you start to move unsteadily. Something twinges beneath your chest covering, and you wince and try to get into a run when you feel it. Two points of pressure beneath your clothing are just a little bit tighter than before, and on a whim, you brush your hand over your tunic and gasp. 

You have breasts. Judging by the weight you can sense on your chest, they’re quite generously sized. Your hips flare out more, your rear feels wider in your leggings, and your waist is just a tad slimmer, too. You also can’t feel any more protruding tightness in your crotch against your trousers, and the reality of the situation settles over you. 

In Things Betwixt, you no longer _ have _ any...things betwixt. Or, rather, you have something entirely different. You’ve taken on a female appearance, and even though your mind and body are just as capable as they were before, the bizarre _ newness _ of it all is sapping you of strength and focus. You’re unsure what to make of, well, your current situation, and that’s costing you time that you don’t have. You’ve only made it halfway across the beach before the ogre reaches you: if you’d maybe not taken the time to contemplate the changes you’d just gone through, you might’ve made it up the hill and across the collapsed tree-bridge to safety, but now it’s too late.

The monster’s in front of you, drooling and panting, three-thumbed hands raised to smash down you to pulp. You can only imagine what kind of damage those protruding limbs can do, and you close your eyes, gritting your teeth and waiting to reawaken at the bonfire. 

The air hangs still. The ogre breathes once, twice, then a third time, even as your own lungs refuse to take in oxygen. Are they savoring the kill? Reveling in your fear? You know death is temporary, but that doesn’t make it pleasant, and you still feel pain as anyone not burdened with undeath does.

Then a new sound comes to your attention. A deep, heavy _ sniff _, and it’s not coming from you. A whiff of air blows your hair back, and you try not to gag at the stench of stagnant water and rotting meat. Carefully, you crack an eye open.

The ogre’s leaning down, hands no longer balled into fists as they bring their nostrils right up to your forehead and take in your scent. Their single eye is furrowed in something like concentration, maybe confusion, and you carefully allow yourself to breathe.

They let out a noise between a rumble and a groan, and stand up straight, belly and chest wobbling as they move. You look down, hoping against hope that maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to bolt between their legs and dash to freedom…

...Uh oh. There’s not much space between their legs, really. Most of is occupied by long, thick protruding object covered in little ridges, the entire thing the size and girth of your arm with an engorged tip, the whole thing the same color as the ogre's skin. At the base, between the ogre's thighs, two hanging, leathery orbs block your way. What are they? Surely the ogre can’t…

No. No no no no no you know _ exactly _ what that is, and if the ogre isn’t killing you, then…

You only have a dagger and some magic throwing urns to defend yourself with. You reach for your blade, fumbling, hoping that if the ogre starts to perceive you as a threat again that maybe they—or, rather, _ he _, although you’re not sure about the particulars of ogre sexual dimorphism and reproduction, as it seems to exist—will stop considering whatever’s passed through their mind and just decide to kill you. Or who knows? Maybe you can slay him. Better that than whatever he has planned.

Your fingers close around the hilt of the weapon. Good, now you just have to—

The ogre growls and stomps on the ground hard enough for your footing to shake, and you fall backwards, the dagger slipping from the sheathe on your waist and flying off into the water. He’s towering above you, whole body rising and falling with his breath, and then the massive _ thing _ that he has between his legs slaps down onto your torso. It’s as heavy as you are, if not even more, and the two titanically fat balls rub against your legs as he begins to rut. 

The wind gets knocked out of you every time the ogre juts his hips forward and grunts, his nuts slapping your pelvis and thighs while the underside of his cock drags along your clothing. The head of it hovers above your mouth, but you shut your eyes and refuse to engage with it, trying to ignore the sweat that drips off of it onto your face. At least, you _ hope _ it’s sweat, because it’s thicker and warmer than any perspiration you’ve ever felt. The whole length of his dick smells of mud and soil, which is better than you’d expect, but not by much.

You’re lucky that the ogre isn’t forcing his full weight onto you, because that would quickly result in you being smashed flat against the sand, although such a death might be preferable to being subjected to this indignity. You don’t know what’s possessed this ogre to act such, but right now he’s availing himself of you, running a dick as thick as your thigh along your outerwear, and you’re not even naked. 

He hisses and growls and lets out deep, vibrating gurgling sounds and moves faster. Now the head of his cock is swinging low with his movements, smacking your face with the power of a full-force slap, the entire force of his fat, flabby, monstrous strength behind the motion. The movement of his testicles feels like it’s going to bruise your lower half: it’s already been rendered numb from the relentless pounding you’ve been subjected to. 

The ogre grunts, pulling back and reaching down to grab at you, and in spite of how you scramble or struggle he’s able to get a tight hold of your tunic and—

_ Riiiiiiiiiip _

There it goes, all in one piece. The only parts that remain are the bits of fabric and leather trapped between your form and the ground.

At least now you’re able to get a view of your new body. Under other circumstances, you might be impressed or even awed by your ripe, round, full tits, or the smooth muscles of your stomach, or the unkempt hair between your legs. But with a massive, horny ogre above you, you don’t really have much room to see anything good with what’s happening.

The ogre, though, seems to be enjoying himself, slapping his cock across your body and letting his nuts swing forward and back when he starts to rut again. Now you can _ really _ feel everything. The ogre’s dick is just as scaley-textured as the rest of him, chafing your skin as he forces your body against it by virtue of his weight. His balls are covered in the thick folds of his scrotum, thumping heavily against your legs and between your thighs while he fucks himself on your body. The thick orbs smacking insistently against the sensitive spots along the outside of your cunt are...having a distracting effect on you. His hefty nuts—sometimes the left, sometimes the right—are giving what you know to be your new clitoris a full-force drumming, and the heat and pressure sparking off from that spot is difficult to ignore. But you’re going to have to, of course, if you want to get out of this in one piece. The head of his cock is _ definitely _ leaking precum now, dribbling it all over your face, and you keep your mouth firmly shut to avoid having to taste it...but it’s less briney than you’d expected, from what you can smell. Not that you _ enjoy _ it or anything. That would be ridiculous.

It seems like you’re not going to have a choice about whether or not you taste it, though, as the ogre’s body rapidly forces the cock forward and back, jabbing the head against your face. He starts to roar and slow down, and a thrill of _ something _ passes through you. You dearly wish that that you’re feeling hope at the possibility of him losing interest...and not disappointment that he’s stopped. The idea that the latter is true is more exciting and uncomfortable than you want to acknowledge.

Oh. Of course. Of _ course _ he fucking is. The ogre’s got enough smarts to put his cum where it’ll hit most of you, so instead of launching it past your head, he slows and stands back just a bit, leaving you looking down at the slit in his cockhead as it hovers above your raw-rubbed tits. It pulses, twitches, widens and shudders, and then hot, thick cream is firing all over your face, soaking your visage in heavy ropes of seed. You can’t stop yourself from crying out in shock, and the next burst shoots directly into your mouth, coating your tongue and filling your cheeks before you can react. Shot number three splatters your tits with a heavy helping of spunk, shot number four leaves your stomach glazed, and the rest rockets off haphazardly over your limbs, crotch, and back to parts of you that have already been covered in the ogre’s load.

You don’t have the energy to spit up the ogre’s cumshot, and you find yourself swallowing it down before you can tell yourself that no, that’s a fucking stupid idea, why are you gulping foreign substances you _ idiot _ . But it’s...a lot less salty than you’d expected, and nowhere near as disgusting. Bordering on sweet, actually, with a hint of tang and salt, like sugared meat drippings. Almost like something you’d _ want _ to drink.

The ogre juts his dick forward one more time, pressed back on your body as he coats the underside of his dick with his own cum, and his nutsack _ smacks _ your clit harder and stronger than ever before. You wail, choking and gasping on the cum that you’ve swallowed as heat and glorious pleasure rips through your body, leaving you gasping and twitching your fingers and limbs while a deep, fulfilling pressure is brought to bear on your cunt, leaving your pussy spurting and undulating on a dick that isn’t there. You can barely understand the shame that writhes in you at the realization that a fucking _ ogre _ just made you cum. 

You blink and shudder and whine, trying not to let yourself be overcome by the epiphany that _ holy fuck that ogre just gave you your first orgasm as a woman and it was fucking glorious and so much better than how it felt before _ . You need to hold on, you need to stay _ yourself _, you can't let the idea of experiencing that rapturous thrill overtake you…

You try to hold on. You really, truly, sincerely try keep yourself. With all your willpower, surely you can resist this temptation? Surely you're strong enough to hold fast?

The truth is that you are not. You are not strong enough, and you do not have the power to avoid succumbing. You do not have enough power, and you have no more chances to gain more. This was your best, and it was a sorry failure indeed.

Failing is a most wonderful, fulfilling, enrapturing sensation, as your mind gets swept away by the possibility that if this felt _ this _ good, if cumming as a woman at the behest of this ogre was _ this _ amazing...what might come next? If you were able to be satisfied to such a marvelous degree by this magnificent monster, why try for anything else? What could possibly match it?

The ogre grabs you by the leg, dragging you towards his hollow by the shore, the place he noticed you from. He sits himself down against the rock wall and positions you with your face by his nuts. You whimper, mind awash with the heady scent of his balls and dick, your entire body coated in cum and the sand that’s stuck you to. You lean forward, suckling on one of his nuts, unable to get your mouth around the sphere that’s as big as your head. Ignoring him isn’t an option anymore, of course, so you resolve yourself to licking, kissing, and fondling both precious testicles.

You work him slowly and gently, but insistently, burying your face in his balls and murmuring encouragement that you have no idea if he can even understand. You draw your tongue along the overlapping folds of his scrotum, pawing at the thick orbs you can feel beneath the tough flaps of his skin. When your hands and mouth get tired, you rest your head on his fat belly and croon until he loses patience and shoves you back towards his nuts. 

Eventually, he roars while you have your lips planting kisses on his ballsack, and he cums again like a geyser, hot seed raining down on the both of you while you open your mouth to try and catch it, leaving you shuddering and squirming at how close merely worshiping your new master got you to climax. It’s a good portend for things to come. 

The ogre’s lips widen in something resembling a smile, and one of his massive three-fingered hands comes down to rest on your rear. He begins to lift, and you start to squirm as he positions the head of his massive dick between your legs. It’ll be a terribly tight fit, but as he starts to sink the engorged tip of his cock into your folds, you can only cry out in fulfillment and bliss, cumming as soon as you’re spread tight, the pleasure intensifying as the lubrication helps him spear you on his shaft.

* * *

Your journey comes to an extremely early end. You never leave Things Betwixt, and you pass the rest of your days there as the cocksleeve of an ogre, allowing him to use you however he likes. 

He rubs his cock all over your body, shoving it against you like you were but a rag when he’s feeling rough, but sometimes allows you to take the initiative. He lets you press your tits up and down along his length, rub it with your thighs, and grind your ass against his shaft like it was your very own brothel pole, which it is. He lets you jerk him and work his nuts, and allows you to do your best to suck his cock. It took a long, long time for you to get anything but the tip between your lips before your jaw stopped you going deeper, but now you can swallow him down with gusto, the only obstacles your stamina and oxygen...and the back of your mouth, which won’t let you take much of him at all past your tonsils no matter how much you train. He doesn’t mind, though, and he grabs your head to fuck your face as much as you can take when he gets uppity, and you revel in how the lack of air leaves you feeling woozy and even more cock-drunk. Except when he cums into your mouth and down your throat into your stomach, he coats you every time with a bath of semen, renewing your baptism as his dickslave with a fully-body paint of cum.

He fucks your pussy until it’s moulded to his dick, but even after that point you still squeeze him tight as ever. He usually just lets you ride him while his belly cushions your bouncing, or he grabs you and lifts you on and off his shaft like you weighed nothing—which you don’t, to someone of his strength—but sometimes he’ll completely cover your body with his considerable weight while you either face him or are made to look down at the sand, and sometimes he’ll stand upright and hold you freely while using you to milk his dick. Sometimes he’ll pull out to give you a full-body cumshower, but if he’s fucking your cunt he usually just fills your womb with his load. It makes sense: cumming _ outside _ is best when his dick was already getting worked out while not in any of your holes. You have no idea if you can have children with an ogre, but he’s coated your cunt with enough spunk that if it’s possible, there’s no way it wouldn’t have taken root by now. So the answer is probably no, but when you walk away bow-legged, or are so fucked numb that you can only crawl, and your belly is slightly gravid with his bounty of seed and you're leaking it all over the sand, you truly don’t mind.

When he first started ploughing your ass, it took a lot of work: that hole wasn’t designed for dicks, much less one of his size, but he insisted in all his grunting eloquence, pressing and teasing the tight, puckered entrance with his fingers and cockhead, and you couldn’t have resisted even if you wanted to. And you didn’t. It still hurt, but it was a delightful sort of agony, the kind that pushed your limits and kept you sharp and focused. He took you all the same ways that he fucked your pussy when he smashed into your rear, though he seemed to prefer it for you to face away, whether you were riding him or bent over onto your hands and knees, so he could watch your ass bounce while he rearranged and stretched out your backside. He sometimes hosed you down, like when he used the rest of you, but he generally preferred to paint your bowels white when he fucked your ass, leaving you gaping and sore and immobile and so very, very blissed out and overjoyed.

You soon realized that his cum is just as nutritious and filling as it is delicious, and you guzzle it down happily as your primary food source. Sometimes you swallow it straight from his cock, and sometimes you eat it off of your body or pull it from the holes he’s fucked you with, and sometimes you lick it off of where it’s spilled onto his form, on his dick or balls or crotch or his swollen stomach, or the folds of skin on his belly, chest and waist. It’s all you need to survive...though he brings you what he can as well, and lets you take the scraps of his other meals anyway. He protects you just as much as he prevents you from leaving, but you never would have abandoned him anyway. Not when he’s the only one who could possibly make you happy.

The coffin that could change you back into a man is so close that you can see it, just down the beach. You never even think to go for it. Sometimes, when your ogre gives you the run of his territory, knowing that you’ll never desert him, you cast a glance at it...but you never think of what might be, and instead turn happily to the massive creature that’s become your whole world, running into his thick arms, hugging his wide belly and reaching for that deliciously giant dick for another reminder about how much you love him and what he does to you.

The spot where you were first made to serve your new purpose in life as your ogre's sex toy, right there on the beach, is never far from the place where your precious ogre employs you as his beloved cock-socket. The stretch of beach where you feared him and fought him and ran from him is now merely steps away from where you shriek in glee as he pounds and stuffs you full of cream, where he rubs and grinds himself on you until you're aching and raw, where you moan in delight as he has you worship his nuts, where you wail your pleasure for the world to hear as you bounce and stretch your holes to accommodate his shaft. 

You’re so fulfilled and so motivated that you never Hollow, and whatever other Bearers of the Curse do in Drangleic passes by you without your notice. You never know the thrill of victory over your foes, but you feel accomplished all the same. You never wear clothes again: your only set got destroyed by your lovely ogre, and why would you ever need to hide your nakedness from him?

You adore everything about him, and not just his mightily massive dick and balls; his enthralling, ink-black eye; his proud teeth and horns; his wide, drooling lips and pillowy tongue; his leathery, rough skin and thick limbs; and, most of all, that big, fat belly and his hanging chest, testaments to his power and strength and the security that he gives you. You stroke his stomach and kiss and lick and smell his body whenever and wherever you can to show how much you treasure him. He can’t exactly kiss you back, but you know he appreciates it, and when he licks you possessively as you ride his dick or he leans over or atop you, you don’t see any cause to retch when confronted by the breath that smells so wonderful. That smells like _ him, _musky and masculine and all-encompassing, just like his fat nuts and gigantic cock. The scent of his body or breath eventually is enough to leave you squirming and aroused, but by then you’re so easily excited by the prospect of being used by him that getting turned on there is no great accomplishment.

Your will to escape vanished the very first time your ogre made you cum, but each and every subsequent orgasm makes you a little more docile, a little more subjected to his whims, a little more his ideal toy. When his balls slap your clit as he grinds atop you, or the width of his cock stretches your cunt wide, or he does anything else that gets you to your peak, a little bit more of your mind slips into the kind of slave that your ogre needs. It doesn’t take much time before you find yourself quick to whimper and beg for his seed, for the chance to partake of _ him _however he wishes. You can still talk—and you speak quite enough to make up for his lack of verbosity—but your conversational eloquence has definitely suffered after so many mind-shattering orgasms and one-sided discussions. 

He can’t speak, and you mostly hear him when he’s growling at you to hurry up and attend to his dick and balls, or when he’s roaring in climax to paste you with that sweet cream, or when he snores while wrapping you in his arms with his cock distending your ass. You’re vocal enough for the two of you and he seems to understand _ some _ of what you say or intend by your tone and the context...even if the lack of conversational practice means that you don’t always say things that would have made sense to your old self. You don’t have any idea who that was, anyway, so why bother? As far as you were concerned, your life began here, on this beach, with this ogre. Nothing existed before or will after. You don’t need anything else. One mistake led you down this path, to the most fulfilling life that you could have possibly led, so was it really an error? You wouldn’t think so.

An outside observer might have said that you should have known better than to use the sex-change sarcophagus. Or they would have, if anyone ever crossed your path, and no one ever did. If you had replied, somehow, in your ogre-cum-addicted state, you would have said that you should have known better than to believe that you ever had any other purpose in life than to be an ogre’s fuckpet.


End file.
